Discord
by deathtoonormalcy
Summary: How the night that House and Wilson met forever changed their lives and one small misunderstanding has the possibility to ruin them. House/Wilson Oneshot


I do not own House MD.

* * *

><p>.o0Discord0o.<p>

God, this was boring. So boring he was reverting to complaining to the imaginary man in the sky sitting astride a throne of gold behind pearly white gates. Or was it a golden gate and a pearly white throne? Didn't matter either way. Religion wasn't exactly his expertise. Glancing up from the open bar he was perched at he looked up. A young man was slumped in a chair a few seats away. Looked boring. Carrying an unopened package.

'Divorce papers.' He deducted mentally. Tipping the burning liquid back into his throat he watched the man do the same. If you could call him a man. Soft, perfectly coiffed hair. High cheek bones, thick red rosebud lips. Greg momentarily thought the man might be wearing makeup from the smooth complexion that usually can only be achieved with copious amounts of cover girl. Not to mention he had a pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks. Now this was interesting. Never before in Houses twenty seven years of living had he been attracted to another man. But here he was pitching a tent for the boarder line transvestite who was only saved by his strong eyebrows and broad shoulders.

"Hey-" Just as House stood to go and greet the stranger the man jumped up turning and briskly walking from the convention. Oh, interesting. He followed the man down the block, where some of the more riskee doctors had retreated from the less than fascinating convention. He rested a shoulder on the wall, watching lady-boy pull up a stool. Ah, so he was still coherent enough to leave the convention before his behavior got out of hand.

"I love this song!" A buzzed doctor laughed. Leave A Tender Moment Alone. Billy Joel. Classic, good enough song. Not nearly as terrible as some music that others found pleasing these days. Let's just say that Greg wasn't a fan of Chicago or their music. He watched pretty boy stiffen up and gravitated towards him.

"Two gin and tonics." He ordered. The man (still questionable) beside him looked up. Thick fluttering brown eyelashes framed gentle soft eyes. Good God, this guy belonged in a soap opera sobbing over his lover.

"Hi." The man peeped. His voice shocked House, deep and warm. Somehow he'd thought the man's voice would be like a sexy throaty woman's. But that wasn't it at all. He was soft and sounded broken, but it was masculine. It kind of turned House off.

"Hey." He greeted, taking a swig of his alcohol. He glanced at the man from the corner of his eyes, a tendril of hair fell from its position on his forehead. He stared at the glass in front of him.

"I don't exactly have any more money." He admitted. He took it back, his voice was perfect. A hint of dry humor even in his drunken state. Far more interesting than having a slutty voice like a horny twink porn star.

"Then it's probably a good thing I paid for it." He grunted. This was frustrating. Normal people waited to have sex for days. But he wasn't normal. He wanted this man now, even if both of them were clearly straight. Why? Was it his feminine face? No, he'd seen pretty guys before none of them made his branch become a tree. He'd never been attracted to men before, so why now? What was different? He wanted to drag this man up to the hotel and examine every inch of his body, find out what made him so damn interesting.

"You did? Thanks." Greg nearly fell from his seat when he got flashed the most beautiful white smile he'd ever seen. Did he really just think that? Next he'd be 'smitten' by his 'dazzling' suitor.

"Drink up." He ordered. The man obeyed, sipping the liquid down.

"What's your name?" Greg asked. The man coughed, and Greg immediately reached out, rubbing his back. Anything for an excuse to touch him. His fingers slide over his solid shoulders. The muscles relaxed beneath his fingers.

"Wilson, James Wilson." He had a revelation. He really liked touching _Wilson_. Like really. Usually he was adverse to touching people longer than necessary, even when he was having sex. But Wilson felt presently warm, strong. He was so tangible. He let his fingers reach up to stroke the back of Wilson's hair. _So soft_.

"And you?" Wilson slurred. His eyes narrowed. What was wrong? Too much touching? He followed Wilson's gaze. Jukebox. Oh, the song. Billy Joel on repeat. Same song had been playing since they entered the bar.

"Gregory House." He wanted all of Wilson's attention. He pulled lightly at the nap on Wilson's neck and the man teetered off his stool, falling forward to clutch House's thighs. For fucks sake. He became so hard so fast he nearly fainted. His cock was rigid in his pants. Blood pooling to his groin. Why? He needed to know. Why was this man affecting him so? Was House a masochist? The man was clearly getting over a divorce, did he want to be a rebound? Last time he checked he didn't get his rocks off by being tortured, but suddenly it became very aware that Wilson had no attention of being fucked and that killed him.

"Can you stop playing that damn song." Wilson spat across the bar. So interesting! His beautiful face contorted into a snarl, fire burning in those previously soft eyes. Fascinating! He was still gripping House's thighs. The Doctor looked up.

"Two beers." House grinned. This was going to be good. The Doctor looked over, he had been chatting up a girl. Overweight but pretty. The Doctor glanced at the girl before puffing out his chest and looking towards Wilson, what a douche.

"You got a problem, queer?" Wilson looked confused before looking down at his hands. He stumbled back and House suddenly had the urge to cross the bar and slam his fist into the Doctor's face.

"I-I'm not-" Wilson stuttered, cheeks bright. House nearly melted into a puddle. He griped Wilson's shoulder, steering him back down to his seat.

"A beer on me." He said. Wilson was too drunk to fight. Wilson chugged down a couple of gulps and House had the sick realization that he was trying to get Wilson drunk. He rubbed his forehead. Was he that desperate to have sex with the beautiful younger man? The answer was yes. How old was Wilson, anyways?

"How old are you?" He asked. Wilson looked up, gaze still angry.

"Twenty two." He answered, and House rocked back. Seven years younger. The kid was barely old enough to drink. Just beginning his career as a doctor then. House groaned.

"If you play that song one more time, I'll-I'll hit you!" Wilson blurted spinning around. He wobbled and House rested a hand on his shoulder to steady him. The Doctor raised an eyebrow. He reached down and pressed the button. When the song began to play Wilson went into a frenzy. Glass shattered as Wilson hurled his bottle at the Doctor to only miss and shatter the window. So not boring.

* * *

><p>"I'm his friend." House said, dishing out the money. Doctor's salary was one of the only redeeming factors of having to deal with annoying people all day. The jailer nodded and waved to another man. Wilson appeared later, House signed most of the papers before they were allowed to leave. Wilson looked rumpled and drunk. He would have a black eye and busted lip. Half his pinstripe button up shirt had come undone. He stumbled alongside House. Greg hesitated before wrapping an arm around the young mans slender waist. He shivered, as an arm slide around his shoulders.<p>

"Thanks." Wilson said hotly in his ear. House closed his eyes for a moment, had to clear his head to answer.

"I don't do anything for free." He said. Try to act like his normal, asshole self. He wanted to see if Wilson liked him, the real him.

"I'll pay you back." Wilson didn't seem bothered by the prospect.

"You have a hotel room?" House asked. Wilson nodded.

"Yeah, 'The Horseshoe'." He named, words still slurred. House slipped his fingers beneath the mans shirt, fingering the soft, hot skin.

"Since I used all my hooker and motel money bailing you out, I think we'll be roomies for the night." House commented. Wilson dropped his head on House's shoulder, chuckling.

"Alright." He agreed.

* * *

><p>"Hnn." Wilson groaned. They clamored into the elevator. Despite Wilson being a good five inches shorter than himself he was a bit thicker. Solid dense muscle rippled beneath House's fingertips.<p>

"You weigh more than that girl the Doctor was chatting up at the bar." House grunted, not expecting a response as he shifted Wilson's leg away from his groin. Wilson laughed, a beautiful noise.

"You're really funny." Wilson smiled. Dazzling. Shit, he thought it. Sighing he tucked his face against Wilson's neck to hide his blush. The man didn't seem to have the same personal space ideals that the rest of the world shared.

"You should see me with my pants off, I'm hilarious." This sent Wilson into another fit of giggles. Fingers clenched his blazer.

"Are you a comedian?" Wilson asked, fingers. Hands everywhere, exploring with touch rather than his currently dazed eyes. House was leaning against the elevator wall, Wilson perched between his legs.

"Only on weekdays. Weekends I have the much more mundane task of being a Doctor." He complained. Wilson's hands were resting on the curve of his lower back.

The room was down the hall and they struggled to open the door. Wilson was clinging to House, murmuring about his favorite jokes. House shoved him inside. The room was nice, clean white bed with a large window looking over the city of New Orleans. Flicking off the lights he backpedaled Wilson to the bed, unable to restrain himself any more.

"I want to have sex with you." House whispered into the younger mans ear. He pulled the divorce papers he had been dutifully clutching since the police station, dropping them on the floor. He began tugging off Wilson's clothes.

"Funny." Wilson scoffed sarcastically. Alright, plan B. If House couldn't rape him, couldn't force him, then he'd have to seduce. Dropping to his knees he touched the tender skin below Wilson's thighs to force him to sit on the bed. No patience. House needed him now. He practically ripped down Wilson's pants, strategically wrapping them around his ankles so he couldn't run away.

"What are you-Ugh!" Wilson's cock twitched in his mouth. Just as impressive and perfect as the rest of him. Thickness to length ratio was ideal. House could feel the smooth soft skin hardening in his gaping, slobbering mouth. He tasted so good. House rutted against Wilson's shin, whimpering. Wilson fell back on the bed, gripping his own hair frantically.

"H-House!" He sounded panicked but pleasure ridden. His drunken body was reacting to the stimulation while hid muddled mind tried to rebuke it. Resistance was futile. House wasn't exactly a cock sucking extraordinaire, contrary to popular insult. But he tried, desperately he lapped at the man, imagining his best blow jobs and trying to mimic them. He even tried a few moves of his own, which sent Wilson withering.

"Lift your legs." House ordered and Wilson obeyed. Trembling he lifted his legs slowly. House got rid of the remainder of his clothes. Until he laid naked in nothing but socks. House was about to peel them off when Wilson wrapped his legs around House's neck, forcing the older mans stubbled chin against the soft thighs of the young doctor.

"Suck, please!" Wilson begged. Oh that voice, it would be House's undoing. How could he have thought for even a second it was off putting. Kissing the mans thighs he smirked as they reddened, so delicate. The moonlight made Wilson appear even paler. He lapped at the flesh, biting and bruising it. Claiming the man beneath him.

"What's the magic word?" House smirked, kissing around the base of the flushed erection. Wilson sobbed, gripping Greg's graying hair.

"I already said please." He choked, oh he wanted it. He wanted it as much as House did. House gripped his thigh and lifted it.

"Say it again." He ordered. Wilson obeyed with a strangled cry.

"Please!" He croaked. Greg nestled his face between the two plump mounds of flesh, licking at the pulsating hole.

"Oh, God!" Wilson screamed, arching off the bed. His fingers scraped House's scalp.

"You can just call me Greg." House chuckled, lapping at the gaping ring of muscle. Wilson's body spasmed beneath him.

"You didn't say-" Wilson protested. Why deny what he so obviously wanted? House rubbed his cheek against the tender flesh, bullying another cry from the young man.

"I said suck, I never said where." House went to work, prying open the flexing hole with his mouth. Thankfully Wilson kept himself extremely clean, or this would have been awful. But it felt phenomenal to have his tongue clamped down on my the strong tissue surrounding his mouth. Almost there. Wilson was nearly ready.

"I'm gonna come!" Wilson cried. Already? House pulled back and Wilson let out a defeated noise.

"More, please." Wilson grappled to reach him. Their chest collided and House felt his face flush. It felt a whole lot more intimate to be facing the object of your desire head on rather than licking at his asshole. Strong legs were clinching around his waist. They were thrusting against each other, the only barrier between them was House's clothes. Quickly striping he lowered himself back down to the strained body beneath him.

"Ugh!" Wilson bit his neck. House grunted lowly. Fuck that was good. Burning, hot flesh. Both of them wet with precum. They slicked across each other like two horny teenagers.

"Lotion." House said suddenly. Wilson looked up, muddled eyes. Oh he wanted it, he wanted it so bad. House trembled, holding in his seed. He wanted it deep in Wilson, so deep it would stay in him for weeks.

"What, chapped hands?" Wilson thought this was extremely clever because he giggled like an idiot on the bed. House gripped his erection and the laughing snapped into a breathy moan.

"No, for your asshole." He leaned down, he wanted to kiss him. But he admitted he was scared. He'd done just about everything gay possible to the man, so why was kissing such a big deal? Still their lips hovered above each others, sharing their breaths.

"I think in the bathroom." Wilson breathed. House nodded but didn't move. This was what he wanted right? Was to fuck Wilson. But for some reason he found despite the throbbing organ between his thighs he wanted nothing more than to kiss the flushed lips. Wilson kissed him first. Their lips bumped, warm and soft. House kissed him carefully, the younger man had such soft skin. Not even any peach fuzz, still so young. House intensified the kiss, prying open the mans mouth and working his tongue and lips. By the time the seering kiss was over, Wilson was nothing but a quivering mess of breathy nerves.

"Don't stop." Wilson begged. Getting off the bed, House went to the bathroom. Sure enough lotion on the sink. Gripping it he went to the still panting boy laying on his back with his legs spread crudely, bathed in moonlight. It was the sexiest damn thing House had ever seen. Climbing on top of him, he coated a finger.

"You sure you want this?" House asked. Wilson hesitated, eyes still drunk.

"Can we just do fingers?" Wilson whimpered. House frowned.

"No." He answered. Wilson took in a shaky breath.

"Okay." He swallowed thickly. Prying him open took a lot of work. He was tight, never even bothered with anal play. The muscles where clamped down on his fingers the instance he entered, demanding he retreat, he shoved in deeper. Never was good at taking orders, even if they were from the bodies main defenses.

"Uhh!" Wilson bucked his hips when House found his prostate. He's purposely avoided it with his tongue earlier, knowing it would send the boy over the edge. But now he dug his slick fingers over the gland. It twitched at his touch.

"More!" Wilson demanded. So needy. House was reveling in it. He scissored open his two fingers and licked the exposed flushed flesh. Wilson screamed that died down into a sob.

"You're trying to kill me." He said, as if a sudden revelation.

"I'm trying to prolong your orgasm, same desired affect of desperation and that sexy little whine you keep emitting." House kissed the man's thighs, causing him to thrash.

"Just give it to me!" Wilson snapped, the same fiery voice he'd used earlier at the bar. Distress looked so well placed on his handsome features.

"Give you what?" House asked, moving up. His stomach brushed Wilson's impossibly engorged cock, and caused him to tremble. Wilson was watching him, his tongue coming out to lick his lips unconsciously.

"All of it." Wilson murmured. House kissed him, gripping his thigh and raising it. Wilson raked his blunt nails down House's back and made panicked little noises as House worked in the tip.

"It's not gong to work like this, on your hands and knees." Wilson obeyed, trembling like a whore. The view of him bent over made House feel a whole lot better for stealing the mans anal virginity while he was drunk. He rubbed his thumb on the puckered flesh. Swollen from the abuse given by his tongue and fingers.

"House." Wilson snapped. Demanding fucker. House eased in his tip, illiciting a moan from his young lover.

"You're so big!" It wasn't an attempt to be sexy, he was accomplishing that enough as he collapsed onto the bed his ass an offering in the air. It was a complaint like he hadn't felt House grinding against his thighs earlier.

"Why, thank you." House grunted, sliding in another inch.

"Oh!" So hot. House shoved himself in when Wilson let out the soft exclamation. He couldn't help it. Wilson was so tight, too tight. It was House's turn to let out a garbled noise as Wilson scrambled up and rocked back so he was seated fully against House's erection.

"Ugh, you're filling me up." House didn't usually like when his sex partners stated the obvious, trying desperately to point out things for him to notice. But Wilson wasn't doing that. Wilson was almost delirious with lust, he was speaking softly to himself, like he couldn't believe his situation.

"And you're taking it like a bitch." He said into his ear. Again, not usually a fan of humiliating his partners. But suddenly he wanted to degrade Wilson, he was sure that wasn't healthy. It was obvious their was a seedling of emotion growing in his chest, so he decided to do what he did best, destroy it. Much to his suprise Wilson didn't throw him off, he moaned.

"Fuck me." He said, hole flexing with his words. House responded, rocking his hips smoothly in and out of the throbbing muscles. Orgasm was much too fast for the both of them. Wilson came first, his prostate was over stimulated and he came so much he was nearly crying by the time he collapsed on the bed. House lifted his limp body, pounding into the slack, hot hole. He held Wilson as he rode out his orgasm, clutching the man tightly to his chest. His steady rhythm broke for sporadic thrust as he emptied himself inside the young man. Pulling out he was satisfied to see he'd filled him up so much that it was leaking down his chaffed ass cheeks.

* * *

><p>Morning.<p>

Few words are exchanged. Names re-questioned. He had been drunker than House thought. He'd nearly fucked a drunk man into a coma. The damage he did on his body was evident in the morning. Red ass, bruised hips, split lip from biting, hickies, had to even walk with a limp to the shower. House had been rougher than he planned.

"I'm going to take a shower." Wilson said meaningfully. He wanted House to leave.

"I'm not leaving."

"Okay." Wilson backs down. He hobbles to the shower, his body entirely sore. Greg feels guilty. Gregory House never feels guilty. Maybe he'd had a bit too much too drink also. He followed Wilson to explore these new feelings, the ones of guilt of course. There were absolutely no other feelings other than guilt.

"I hurt you." House winced, stating the obvious was not his thing. Wilson looked up, nodding slowly before turning on the shower.

"It's pretty blurry, but from what I remember I was asking for it." Wilson says, sighing. Not blaming House? Sober Wilson was just as interesting as the vixen last night who had ensnared him, was he _still_ thinking like that? House stepped in behind him in the shower. Wilson looked up, eyes confused. House ducked down to kiss him. It was gentle, coaxing. Trying to ease both of them into their current situation. It worked, both of their bodies relaxed against the other. Bodies recognized what minds forgot. They where holding tight to each other, liking trying to squeeze tight enough to be the same person. But then Wilson stepped back.

House wonders, twenty years in the future if he should have held on. If he should have not agreed to what he said next. Should have screamed and argued like he would have with anyone else. But he had been scared. Scared of never seeing Wilson again, never seeing that smile. So he accepted the words that came next.

"We can be friends, if you want."

"Okay." And House turned and left the shower.

* * *

><p>"House, you're right. Why not? Why not date you? It's brilliant. We've known each other for years. We've put up with all kind of crap from each other, and we keep coming back. We're a couple." Not what Gregory House planned on hearing nearly twenty years later in the hospital they both worked at. Wilson loved him, something he was very proud of. Not many people could stand House, let alone love him. But the fact was that House had managed to place enough intrigue and excitement in Wilson's house to keep him around and mistake his awe of House for love was an accomplishment. He loved House, but he was not <em>in<em> love with House. Greg never believed in love, still didn't. The anomaly that compelled him to desperately try and impress Wilson at every turn, scramble to make amends when they were arguing, or even apologize to him we're things he chalked up to friendship. Wilson was his only friend, maybe that's why he treated him like his own person God. He needed to respond to Wilson's earlier comment.

"Are we still speaking metaphorically?" The answer had meant to come out serious, but his usual sarcasm dripped into it. Wilson was his God? He catered to him, and in return Wilson indulged him as well. He thought about him constantly when he wasn't on a case. Went to him for advice, equivalent to prayer. For God's sake he's remained chaste for the majority of his life because he couldn't take his mind off the man. He was nun.

"No, House. I'm being serious, make sure to buy condoms tonight." Sarcasm completed with an eye roll. That stung, far worse than it should have. Wilson was witty when he was defensive, had to be after being friends with House for so many years. He'd said much worse to Wilson, but House nearly bolted at that. That would look suspicious. Did Wilson forget? Had he blocked out the one drunken blurry night where they had met? It wouldn't be too hard, Wilson had been very young. But then again, pretty hard to forget the first time your best friend sticks his cock in your ass.

"Funny." House retorts. Wilson sees something on his face that he knows no one else would spot in a thousand years. Wilson ducks his head a fraction, biting his lip. Oh, so he does remember.

"Sorry," Quick, done. Over, not to be talked of again. The most acknowledgement their 'tryst' had gotten in years.

"But I'm serious, you have to stop butting in on my relationships." Double whammy. Wilson was on a roll of heart break. House resisted clutching his tight chest. They never talked about it. Never. Sometimes House would make gay comments, allude to their relationship but just for his own pleasure. Just to see the flush come to Wilson's cheek as he remembered. Everyone else would just excuse it as House being his usual rude self, but no, it was for Wilson's reaction. But if Wilson made a comment (which was rare, extremely so) then House would feel dizzy, his pulse racing like he was overdosing on Vicodin. Sure, Wilson was just joking, but he should know. The sidelong glances, the scowls when he hears of a new wife, the 'accidental' brushes of the hands. They were all there. Telling him that House remembered and he hated it, wanted to forget so he could move on. But he knew he never would.

"You're 'relationships' are a joke. You just want to fix what's already broken." House snapped. Angry that Wilson couldn't see. How could he not. He was jealous when he found out Wilson had other friends, what did he expect when he was getting married or had a slutty fuck buddy.

"Then that must explain why I like you so much, because you are the most self destructive person I've ever met!" Wilson's shouting, drawing attention. Like a fine wine, he's aged magnificently. House shakes the thoughts from his head. Uh, ew. But it's true. The soft skin remains smooth and unblemished besides the folding corners of his eyes. Body remains trim and healthy, slight graying at temples just makes his eyes shine brighter.

"The one person who you've actually shattered to pieces and you don't even stop to realize how much I suffer because of you! The Vicodin is only partly because of the leg, the pain I can't handle is seeing you saunter off with every slut that looks your way!" He said that out loud, didn't he? Nurses are gasping. He scrambles back, his leg aching so he nearly drops to the floor. Wilson on reflex moved to catch him. Wilson was always there when he needed him, his pillar, but he flinches away like a deer caught in headlights. House can't even bare to look at him. To see the rejection, the pity.

"I'm joking." He lies. It falls flat, the emotion in his voice from his little speech couldn't be achieved by the greatest actor in the world. The jig's up. He sags against the wall, his face burning.

"Damn it." He curses, turning and limping as fast as he can. Wilson doesn't follow.

* * *

><p>Cuddy tries. Cameron. Chase. Foreman. They all come and go, giving him each a separate talk. They all know. They've all known. He'd thought he kept it so hidden, so buried deep in his chest that even surgery couldn't reveal it. But they knew, all of them. The looks are what he hadn't realized. His face was horridly expressive, and he hadn't bothered to make sure he wasn't gazing longingly at Wilson when his back was turned. Which he had been doing for twenty years. Finally his God appears. Entering in a beacon of light. Oh, the office House was slumped in didn't have the lights on so the lights from the hallway shined on Wilson's back. Same effect though. He wondered if any fat kids would volunteer to prance around him with angel wings and a harp, while wearing loin clothes. That would add to the overall effect. Hmm, were those angels or cupids? Both right?<p>

"You okay." Wilson's voice. Warm, smooth. House's body reacted instantly, the tense coiled muscles eased until he was a puddle of bones and tendons.

"Define okay." House grunted, shifting off his bad leg. Wilson took a seat on the desk.

"I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. A man with prostate cancer isn't going to last long. I had to console the family." Words are strange things. One word can bring forth an array of emotions even if its arranged in the most displeasing sentence surrounded by other boring words. Prostate. That's all it takes for the images, 'the flood' he calls it. That night has been so thoroughly picked apart that even scene is burned into his mind. When Wilson says the wrong word 'the flood' happens and House nearly crumbles. It's an issue. Since most of the words that remind him of that night are inappropriate and placed in many diagnosis's. Flushed. Fever. Fluid. Hot. Wilson. Red. Wet. Cum. Burning. Full. Happy. Words weren't set in stone, some words appeared at random. He only realized last week that 'itchy' had to be added to the list when he remembered his stubble scratching lightly at the tender skin of Wilson's thighs.

"Don't care." He rolled over, reaching for his Vicodin. Wilson plucked it from the table.

"I don't think so." Wilson countered. House hopped up from his chair, eyes blazing. Using his cane, he caught Wilson by the ankle, tripping him roughly on a chair. House tapped the worn rubber tip of his cane against Wilson's cheek threateningly. It shouldn't have been so arousing to see Wilson's pissed off face and flushed cheeks as he was forced into submission, his arms sprawled over the chair, his breathing harsh, the Vicodin bottle clenched in his fist. House's two favorite things Vicodin and Wilson.

"Hand it over, hot rod." He said his eyes leveling to Wilson's. Wilson sat up, his chest bumping the cane's tip. He handed over the Vicodin.

"You'd really hit me with that cane, wouldn't you?" Wilson demanded, face flushed. House popped off the top with a practiced one hand, keeping the cane level with the other.

"Call it tough love." House made a fake before downing the pills. Wilson scowled.

"You don't love me, you treat me like crap and say things that I wouldn't even say to people I hated." Wilson looked ready to cry. The room was dark still, so it was hard to read his face. Wilson? Wilson of all people could read him like a book. So why this? This sudden road block.

"Are you trying to get me to make an ass of myself?" House asked seriously. Wilson gave a short dry laugh.

"You do a good job of that without my help."

"Answer the question." He snapped harsher than he meant to. He tried to keep a level head with Wilson. But that never seemed to work out too well.

"I don't understand your questions, stop speaking in riddles and just say it!" Wilson's turn to scream. It was late, no one would come and interrupt them. No one to break up their fist fights, something that happened regularly over the years.

"Are you trying to humiliate me?" House demanded. Wilson stood, letting out a noise of disbelief.

"I say you treat me like crap, which you do. And in return you say I'm trying to humiliate you, your arrogance is suffocating." Wilson bit out, poking a finger at his chest. House ducked down to glare at him at eye level.

"Either you're really good at acting stupid, or you're just _really_ stupid." House countered.

"Eat me," Wilson hissed. The flood happened. Vivid, a few images he though he'd forgotten came back suddenly. Spreading Wilson, lapping at him until he begged for more.

"I did and you enjoyed it. Only problem is you think playing straight will help you cope with your feelings for me." Wilson stepped back. It was the shower all over again. The shocked, confused face. Dark cheeks, mind working a mile a minute to catch up. Fuck. 'Idiot' rung in his head like a mantra.

"I don't understand." Wilson murmured. House leaned against the wall, he needed support. Too much.

"You're trying to humiliate me because you know how much I care for you, you know I suffer everyday not having you." House said. Wilson's eyebrows knitted together.

"Y-You-" Had he really forgotten? Had the moment that forever altered House's life been so vacant to the other participant that he hadn't even bothered to take a mental photograph. House's chest ached so painfully that he gripped a handful of his shirt, right above his heart.

"You're an idiot!" Wilson shouted. Confirming his earlier self hatred. Tears, Wilson was crying loudly. He'd done it. He'd broken their unspoken rule of never speaking about that night. Wilson gripped the paperweight sitting on the desk and hurled it at the glass office door, it shattered. The tightness in House's chest eased a bit.

"Still not boring." He grinned. Wilson turned his burning face to House, even his ears red. Angry sobs racked his body and even after the divorces, the dead dogs, the lost patients he had never, ever seen Wilson cry so hard. He walked forward steadily, ignoring the tension that filled his best friends body. He reached around his solid form and hugged him tight.

"I'm sorry." He felt his stomach dropped. He's the one who made Wilson cry. His Wilson was crying because of him. He never made Wilson cry. He made him angry, he made him happy, he made him exasperated but he never made him cry. The apology was right from his heart.

"You are the stupidest person on the entire world." Wilson blubbered against his chest. House didn't bother correcting him, he knew he should have said planet. The wording was all wrong, but he ignored it because it was Wilson and Wilson was crying.

"I'm sorry." He repeated, just as meaningful. Wilson was mumbling things against his chest, his soft brown hair tickling the underside of House's chin. House should never had said anything, Wilson would never forgive him. Had he ruined their friendship?

"-wanted for so long." Wilson sobbed. House stiffened.

"Wanted what?" House asked.

"You." Wilson muttered, his tears and noises stopped. The room went dead silent. Not even a second to process it. Wilson could never mean it _that way_, he must mean he wanted their friendship on a deeper level. Although House wasn't sure they even had what could be considered a normal relationship when they spent more time together then their wives. Even if said wife was just there for a green card and house work.

"You have me." He said, taking precaution to keep any emotion from his voice. Wilson's fingers tightened on the corners of his shirt. Wilson lifted his head from House's now damp article of clothing. Wilson's face was blotchy and red, his eyes were puffy from crying and he had some 'bats in the cave'. But to House he couldn't have looked more beautiful.

"You said you wanted to be just friends." Wilson gritted out. House's eyes went wide.

"What?" He rasped. Everything was blank. His mind, his body. Numb, nonexistent. Had he even spoken?

"I asked, if you wanted to be friends that night and you said 'okay' then left. I cried for an hour! It was my first time and I was drunk but I felt a connection with you so I didn't want it to be a one night stand because you were so handsome and I knew you would leave so I offered to be friends and you agreed. Then you were so brilliant and we became close and we worked together and I got married but I always have loved you. All of my divorces have happened because of my ... love for you. They all notice, and sometimes I even say your name when I cum which is humiliating but true, and I'm sorry. I've tried to keep it bottled up but even Cuddy knows and I don't want us to stop being friends, because I love you."

It was a rush of words. Sentences running into each other, unnecessary redundancy, no proper pauses. But it was the most wonderful thing House had ever heard and he felt the backs of his eyes burning and his throat swelling like he was suffering from anaphylactic shock. But he wasn't. He was just sure he had heard the words love and connection. So he felt it too? House checked his wrist. Was he tripping on drugs? Someone might have switched his Vicodin with Acid.

"Do you ... feel the same?" Wilson was waiting. His gaze nervous and unsure. That's what had prohibited him from reading House, self consciousness. House would make sure to rid that tonight.

"More so, I-I-" What could he say? How could he express in words what he felt towards James Wilson. Did he tell him that his favorite porno was the one Wilson had starred in as an eighteen year old and he could only get off at Wilson's scenes? Did he tell him that he kept a picture of them in his wallet and searched nearly three weeks before finding it in the back of the bus empty of credit cards and money, but he didn't care because he had the picture back. Did he tell him that he had sent thousands to Wilson's schizophrenic brother so he got proper treatment when that bitch of an ex wife took almost all of Wilson's money.

"If this is one of your jokes, I swear to God-" Wilson gritted. House lowered his mouth to meet Wilson's. Both of them were hesitant, so careful with the other. Then 'the flood'. The levy crumbled and nothing mattered, only that Wilson felt the same way.

"It's not. I promise." They kissed over and over until both of them were breathless. Wilson suddenly burst into giggles and House frowned, leaning back.

"Sorry, it's just-" He waved his hand. House listened in. From the broken glass that Wilson had shattered they could hear the music in the hallway. An instrumental version of Leave A Tender Moment Alone by Billy Joel. Oh God.


End file.
